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The Meadow
Photo by Steven Pedraza |
The Meadow
Photo by Steven Pedraza |
The Meadow
Photo by Steven Pedraza |
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Wind ripped away at the top of the cliffs. Hundreds of feet below, the ocean smashed the slick, jagged surface of the rock face. The ocean birds could find only small areas to take cover. The wind seemed to come from every direction with nothing stopping it. The only thing that could cling to the cliff tops were the tiny plants, little grasslings. A stretch of land so plain, so delicate. The ocean echoed against the rocks, screaming in frustration at its inability to move the mass in front of it...more
The house was simple with windows and gables that looked like they possessed contented secrets. Birches and Hemlocks shaded it on all sides, locking it into a world all its own. The sky hung low that day, the atmosphere weighing heavy on the landscape. A ditch teemed with the fall waste of the year, leaves and branches conglomerated into the minute stream that could be heard faintly from the porch. A young man enjoyed the crisp sound while rocking back and forth on his creaking porch swing. He was embracing the loneliness that was quickly becoming his best friend. The moments stretched together painfully, hanging suspended in his mind as long as possible. He sighed deeply, fingering the red-tinted curls that had grown long out of neglect. He looked at one out of the corner of his eye. He heard her...more
The moon beat down on the harsh glacial landscape. Peaks of ice met the colorless sky and the air burned. The shadows danced malevolently around the firmly packed snow, an occasional tree reaching its twisted limbs into the cool silver light. Fingers of tormented oak scratched deep furrows of darkness onto the ground. The full moon was so brilliant the Sea of Tranquility seemed to envelop the sky. There was a shrieking wind, and the already frigid landscape seemed to cry out in pain along with it. Ice crystals raced on the wind, stinging and cutting the gnarled trees. Through it all twisted a narrow path leading to a small cabin...more
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For the better part of a month, I have traveled up and down I-25, in and out of basements and smoke-filled bars (where I can’t even have a beer) and through the lives of a few of my friends, two of whom are college graduates, the other two still attending school in two different cities. This being the case, it seems nearly impossible that these four would still make it almost two or three times a week to some frat house or a tiny music venue hidden in urban Denver just to make a few bucks and play music. But they do, and without much regard to personal well-being or finances...more
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The smell of hay drifted up as one walked in the front door of the barn. Upstairs was a hay loft filled with loose hay. Old wooden beams stretched from one end to the other supporting the leaky roof. Ropes hung from a pulley in the center from which children once swung...more |
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